Read Murder on Lovers' Lane (Brody and Hannigan Mysteries) Online
Authors: Paula Graves
Murder on Lovers' Lane (Brody and Hannigan Mysteries) (10 page)
He fell awkwardly, to his knees and then face down in the sun-burned grass of her back yard.
Brody kept his gun leveled at the crumpled form. "Careful," he warned as Hannigan moved toward Silor.
She kicked the revolver out of the man's loosened grip and crouched beside him, touching her fingers to his carotid. She felt faint, erratic flutters. They died away before she could remove her hand. Beneath his body, blood was pooling rapidly.
She looked up at Brody and shook her head.
Epilogue
Nobody at the office had found anything amiss when Brody suggested Hannigan should stay at his loft until her house ceased being treated as a crime scene. They were partners, after all, and after a night such as they'd just experienced, none of their fellow law enforcement officers blinked an eye at the idea of partners de-stressing together after a close call.
But Brody knew that, after tonight, he and Hannigan were no longer just fellow law enforcement officers. Fellow law enforcement officers didn't get horizontal in the front seat of their cop cars and tongue-kiss until their heads were spinning.
Hannigan looked wrung out, but Brody still couldn't think of her as anything but beautiful. She didn't protest when he tucked a cushion behind her back as she dropped wearily on his sofa, and he didn't complain when she put her muddy red pumps on his five-hundred dollar cherry coffee table.
She managed a smile when he returned from the kitchen with a cup of steaming hazelnut mocha latte. "You're a gem, Brody. An honest-to-God gem."
"You just love me for my latte." He sat next to her, careful not to sit too close. They needed to have a long talk about everything that happened tonight, but it could wait.
"I knew you would figure it out," she murmured after a sip of the coffee. "You know me better than anyone."
He hid his pleasure. "Anyone? Better than your brothers?"
She made a face. "Much better than my brothers."
"Better than your mother?"
She slanted a look at him. "In certain ways."
He managed a smile, but it faded quickly. "I was scared tonight. When I realized it was Silor—and he was with you—"
"You knew it was Silor before you called me?" She didn't sound surprised, really, only curious.
He explained the steps he'd taken to come to the conclusion. "When I realized he fit the profile," he finished, "it suddenly seemed obvious."
"I came to the same conclusion," she said with a wry smile. "A bit belatedly."
He turned to look at her, allowing himself the long gaze he'd resisted during the hectic hours of chaos after his backup had descended on Hannigan's back yard. "Tell me you're not hurt and stoically hiding it."
Her smile flared a second. "I'm not hurt and stoically hiding it."
He couldn't stop himself. He touched her cheek, cradling the soft curve of her jaw in the palm of his hand. Her eyes flickered with feminine heat before her eyelids fluttered shut. "Hannigan—"
She moved toward him, her hands lifting to his face. She opened her eyes and pinned him with her blazing gaze. "I know this is a bad idea. And I don't even know what I'm offering—"
He silenced her with a soft, undemanding kiss. A feral growl of desire rumbled deep in his belly, but he held it at bay. Their emotions were too raw, their souls too vulnerable, to make any life-altering decisions tonight.
He withdrew, cradling her face in his hands. "I'm not sure we can go back to the way we were yesterday morning, Hannigan."
She sighed. "I don't think we should rush into big changes, either."
He should have known she'd be the heel-dragger, he thought with affection. Ever the pragmatist.
He tabled the thought for the night. "I think you should go get in my bed and try to get some sleep," he said. "I'll take the sofa."
She pushed herself to her feet. Halfway to the stairs, she turned and looked at him, her eyes dark with emotion. "I don't suppose you could sleep with me tonight? Just sleep?"
He smiled, tempted by the thought. But he shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm not a saint."
Or a eunuch
.
"No, you're not." The fondness in her voice nearly overwhelmed his determination to let her take her time.
But he clung to his sanity and watched her go up the stairs without him.
He retrieved a thin blanket from the closet near the door and plumped up both of the throw pillows until he'd fashioned a relatively comfortable bed out of his sofa. He undressed to his boxer shorts and left his t-shirt on, working off the premise that the more clothes he kept on, the longer he'd have to talk himself out of changing his mind about where to sleep tonight.
He'd thought he'd have trouble going to sleep, after such a frantic night, but his eyes drooped immediately, and it took a second to realize Hannigan's voice wasn't the beginning of a promising dream.
He opened his eyes as she called his name again, her voice coming from the second level of the loft, where his bed occupied the narrow space. "Yeah?" he answered.
"You think I'm the pragmatic one, don't you?" she asked.
"Yeah," he answered with a smile, remembering his earlier thought.
"I don't feel very pragmatic right now, Brody."
As he pondered her words, she fell silent, and in a few minutes he heard the soft snuffle of her steady breathing as she drifted to sleep.
He stared up at the city lights playing across the ceiling, listened to his partner's quiet respirations, and smiled.
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